It was a rough week, and way more chaotic than normal. Dishes in the sink, floors swept once, Little Man wearing my socks because he didn't have any clean.
(Lord have mercy! I cannot believe I just confessed that. Let's pretend I didn't ok?)
My kids were fed and clothed, but they heard a lot of, "After Mommy finishes this paper, kiddo," and, *crash* "Little Man, are you guys ok?"
Like kids do, my babies waited for me. They destroyed a few things in the meantime, but they waited nonetheless.
As I was sweeping one afternoon, I asked Little Man to hold the dustpan. Did your mom ask you to hold the dustpan when you were too tiny to work a broom without hitting innocent bystanders? I have vivid memories of holding the dustpan for my mom, pulling it farther and farther back until the floor was spotless.
And now I'm the one holding the broom, my son bending impatiently to the dustpan.
But here's the thing: I'm just going about my daily life, doing what needs to be done. And they're watching.
I'm chatting with a friend about life's frustrations. And they're listening.
I'm modeling what it's like to be a grown-up -- one solitary person on this great spinning ball. And everywhere I go, everything I do. . . they're following.
They won't make the same choices I made (thank heaven). They won't turn out exactly like I did (again, mercy). They'll carry some of my good and some of my not-so-good, and I'll pray for grace on their whole lives.
But the simple, chilling, awesome truth is this: I'm leading them today. And you're leading yours. The question is. . .
Looking up the word intentional,